


Blue Moon

by captainiamallama



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Planet, Angst, Lance is lonely, M/M, Outer Space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainiamallama/pseuds/captainiamallama
Summary: Blue Moonnoun1.A phenomenon whereby the moon appears bluish owing to smoke or dust particles in the atmosphere.2.A second full moon in a calendar month.3.A very long period of time***In which Lance is stranded on a dying planet, he misses his friends, and every single thing makes him think about Keith.





	Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Woo! Yeah! Ok! Woo!
> 
> This is basically just me stress writing. Sorry? I will post very short chapters because I have the attention span of a flea. 
> 
> Also! This story was partially inspired by the song Blue Moon by Billie Holiday. If you want you can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntDnwBiORu8 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

They said Lace McClain had a heart made of iron. 

 

It started when Sierra 9, who lived in the unit just below Lance, asked him to take her to the ocean. He turned his head away from her, made a remark about the weather, and it neither of them mentioned it again. Still, gossip travels fast and soon everyone in a 100-mile radius knew that Lace, who everyone thought was quite a nice boy, had broken poor Sierra’s heart. 

 

What they didn’t know was that the night after their conversation, Lance lay in bed for hours, running the name Sierra through his brain. They didn’t know that the night after their conversation, Lance lay in bed for hours moving the name around his mouth, trying to feel it on the tip of his tongue. They didn’t know that for Lance, the name Sierra tasted like iron. 

 

They also didn’t know that Lance had liked Sierra, liked her a lot, but when she rested her elbows on his balcony her hair fell on her shoulders in the same way that Lance’s sister’s did back on earth. They didn’t know that whenever Lance’s eyes met hers he had to wonder how two people of entirely different species, who lived hundreds of light years away from each other, could share irises. They didn’t know that Sierra sounded all too much like ‘Sabella and they didn’t know that when Lance was younger he dropped the I of his sister’s name. 

 

Still, gossip travels fast while thoughts do not. And Lance McClain had broken poor Sierra 9’s heart. 

 

They said Lance McClain had a heart made of iron. 

 

***

 

Life on planet DLII was a series of tasks, none of which really needed doing, but all of which were done anyways, and done with care and effort. This, for Lance, meant several things. 

 

First, it meant that he would wake up every day just as the sun was peaking its head through the curtain of smoke that hung perpetually in the sky. The rays would pass through the scarf Lance had draped across his window, and tumble onto the wall just above his bed. The light would soak his face in warmth and, startled, Lance would wake up. This happened, without fail, every single day, and lead Lance to believe that despite his years and experience, he was forever a teenager. 

 

After his abrupt awakening via sunlight, Lance would start to make tea out of the mushrooms that Dorit 7 sold out of his stall (Lance initially bought the tea in the hopes that they would give him some sort of high, another sign that he was still 16 at heart). While his kettle boiled, Lance would take his basket and go onto the balcony where he would lower it down to the unit below. The kettle would then boil, Lance would finish making his tea, and by the time he was done Sierra 9 would have put some fresh baked goods into the basket. After retrieving the food, Lance would place a flower, a button, or whatever was on hand in the basket and would lower it down again. 

 

Once Sierra took the object she would call, “Thank you!” and Lance, raising the basket once again, would call, “No, thank _you_!”

 

After eating, Lance would put on his clothes on, usually just jeans and a shirt, sometimes a jacket, and tie up his hair, which was long enough to touch his shoulders. He would stare at himself in the mirror and sigh as his eyes traced along the grey streak that had formed. Lance would then pull the surgical mask off the hook by his door, secure it behind his ears, and walk down what always seemed like a million flights of stairs, but what was really 25, to go outside. 

 

Living on planet DLII also meant living under a net of wires. Telephone wires, streetcar wires, wires to send baskets on, all of them formed a lattice across the sky. Whenever he looked up, Lance would feel claustrophobic and a wave of nausea would wash over him. He stopped looking after a year of living there. 

 

Every morning, Lance would run to one of the stops marked with red flags and hop on a streetcar. The trains were small, they could only carry about 10 people at a time, and deep blue in colour. Lance would thank the driver, who was almost always a short, stout man named Ivan 89, then squeeze himself in-between the passengers. Almost every day Lance would notice the same person sitting across from him, a woman with deep red fabric covering her head so only her eyes showed, and almost every day Lance would think about how nice it would be if they talked, since they saw each other so much. And yet, almost every day, he would see her eyes and that shade of grey would send Lance back almost 10 years to that bright-yellow moon and the feeling of lips against his. Lance would look away, cursing himself for remembering. 

 

He would ride the streetcar for half an hour then get off by the market. Lance owned a stall there, or co-owned a stall there, ownership worked strangely on DLII. His co-worker, or co-owner, or subordinate, or employer, would always get there first. He was a tall, green glob who’s given name was impossible to say but insisted on being called Melvin. The two of them sold fruit, which would come on a ship from planet DLIV once a week. 

 

The ship would come every Tuesday, or what would be Tuesday if that was a thing on DLII. It landed a little ways away from the market, and every week Lance would jump at the opportunity to pick up their goods. He loved weaving his way through the stalls, and he loved the cacophony of the landing deck. Plus, it didn’t hurt that one of the workers looked like Lance’s best friend, or old best friend, Hunk. His memories with Hunk were some of the few that refused to rust. 

 

Every so often, one of Lance’s customers would recognize him. The exchange usually went something along the lines of this: 

 

The customer, usually someone who was fairly old, would come up to his stall and look at Lance tentatively. They would smile a bit, then frown, then say, “Aren’t you Lance McClain?”

 

“That’s right,” Lance would say, beaming, since recognition always felt nice. 

 

The customer would smile bemusedly. “Well, what are you doing here?” They’d ask.

 

“Just waiting it out, you know how it is.”

 

“I do, I do,” They’d say, nodding knowingly. “My, it must have been 10 years by now.”

 

“Eh eh eh,” Lance would correct, “Only 8.”

 

And then the customer would either say “Well, I hope it goes well for you,” or they would bring up one of Lance’s friends from that time, the only time they could be talking about. Lance would give them some free fruit either way and if the customer wanted to talk more he would tell them to meet him at the end of the day. 

 

Lance had yet to see someone who would do that. 

 

When the sun started to set, Lance and Melvin would pack up their stall and part ways. After walking through the market and saying goodnight to everyone else packing up, Lance would make his way through the narrow streets until he reached an opening in the net. An opening that was, without fail, the beach. 

 

Every night Lance would take off his shoes, dig his feet into the sand, and watch the grey waves lap against the surf. The ocean reminded him of his childhood growing up in Varadero, and although the ash-covered shallows of this ocean couldn’t be more different than the pristine depths of the ocean Lance liked to call his, he would still be overcome with nostalgia. The first few times he saw it, Lance had cried. It stopped after a month, but every so often Lance would have the urge to do it again. 

 

The moon that hung over DLII was always large and blue. The size came from it’s proximity to the planet, while the tint came from the layer of smoke that clung to the sky. At first, Lance had thought the moon beautiful, but after a while, the blue began to let off a strange, metallic smell, and Lance realized the planet was dying, as was he. The blue moon was a reminder of how useless it all was, how little sense Lance’s life made. 

 

You can’t be surrounded by love one day and alone the next.

 

An alien can not have your sister’s eyes. 

 

Colours can’t have a smell.

 


End file.
